


On A Willful Afternoon When I Thought Love Could Choose

by Zee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Groundhog Day (1993) Fusion, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Ushijima Wakatoshi, Character Death sort of but he gets not-dead immediately, Future Fic, M/M, Set in their university days and they're attending different schools, UFOs, Yakuza Appearances, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 08:52:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10382961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zee/pseuds/Zee
Summary: Ushijima gets stuck in a repeating time loop on the day his university's team must play Oikawa's. Shenanigans ensue.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stereosymbiosis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereosymbiosis/gifts).



> This was written as a commission for the wonderful captainmander! Mander, I hope you enjoy this, and thank you for the opportunity to write this, I had so much fun with it. 
> 
> Thanks to marbleflan for the beta. Title is from Cerys Matthews, [Streets Of New York.](https://www.lyricsbox.com/cerys-matthews-streets-of-new-york-lyrics-ttstm19.html)

Ushijima knew it was very rude--well, beyond rude: it was a flagrant violation of the rules, something his coach would be disciplining him for later if Ushijima had any kind of future, which of course he didn’t--to leave the court before shaking hands with the opposing team. He never would have imagined himself capable of showing such disrespect, but he did it without thinking, without listening to his coaches calling after him or the murmur of the crowd. There was no choice in the matter. His ribs felt like they were pushing apart from each other, heat and pressure stung behind his eyes, he couldn’t breathe. It was nothing like the usual post-game exhaustion. He’d never felt like this before. 

He pushed past a cluster of fans watching the game to get out into the hall. One of them said something sharp as he jostled them, but he couldn’t parse the words, and he didn’t care. These people wouldn’t remember his rudeness when he saw them again tomorrow, which would still be today; Ushijima recognized their faces from yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, he couldn’t even recall how many times he’d seen them here watching his team play and half-blocking the hallway. All those days had also been today. Ushijima would go to sleep tonight and wake up tomorrow to play the same day of the same tournament, going through the motions, a new and unwelcome hatred for volleyball growing in his heart with each iteration. 

He thought he could feel Oikawa’s eyes trained on his back as he left the stadium. Oikawa would surely be judging him right now for being a sore loser, and this thought was almost painful enough to break through the bloom of Ushijima’s panic and make him pause. But just like everyone else, Oikawa wouldn’t remember this judgment when this day started over. Ushijima wouldn’t have to live with it. 

Perhaps the lack of consequences should have been freeing, should have given Ushijima a certain elation. But he couldn’t remember ever feeling more trapped. He didn’t want a life without consequences, without meaning to his actions; he knew now, with zero uncertainty, that a life consisting only of endless volleyball sets was actually horrifying.

He moved blindly through the gymnasium halls until he was outside. There was no one around as soon as he turned the corner to the side of the building, so he was able to sink to the ground and sob without witnesses. Not that it mattered, but if Ushijima was going to be taken over by the kind of weeping, uncontrollable panic he had only experienced a few times as a very young child, he preferred to do it alone, even if no one would remember it.

Ushijima looked up when he heard footsteps, but made no move to scrub the tears off his face. He was surprised to see Oikawa, but less surprised that Oikawa looked livid. Leaving a game that abruptly would have offended Oikawa’s sensibilities even if he wasn’t always looking for reasons to be offended by Ushijima.

“I can’t _believe_ you--” Oikawa stopped abruptly as soon as he got a clear look at Ushijima, and the shock on his face was comical; Ushijima felt half a dry laugh puff weakly out of his lungs. Oikawa’s jaw hung slack, his pretty brown eyes were wide and he looked deeply dismayed, like the sight of his rival huddled against a gym wall and crying was about as welcome as vegetables rotting in his kitchen sink.

Ushijima didn’t know what to say, and the tight pain in his chest (he couldn’t seem to stop himself from gasping for breath, his body reacting like he was fighting for every point at the end of a set instead of sitting on gravel) seemed to be preventing him from feeling the full weight of the emotions he might otherwise feel upon being seen by Oikawa at such a vulnerable moment. He looked up, his vision somewhat blurred, and said nothing. The edges of his sadness and frustration felt duller and worse as the silence stretched on.

But Oikawa was not the type to be struck dumb for long. “You’re crying,” he blurted out, then cringed at himself. “Not that that’s--I was just startled. This is why you left the match in a hurry?”

Ushijima rested his head against the wall. “Oikawa, go away.”

Oikawa ignored him, instead advancing with his hands on his hips. “Are you having a panic attack?” he demanded.

Was that what he was experiencing? His instinct was to dismiss the possibility entirely--it seemed too jarring a term to apply to his own physical state. But then his situation was very abnormal. 

Oikawa seemed to take Ushijima’s silence as an admission. He came closer, crouched down and--Ushijima was stunned--braced his hand on Ushijima’s shoulder. Ushijima squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away, a delayed reaction to Oikawa’s complicated presence hitting him all at once. “Breathe, Ushiwaka.”

He opened his eyes again to glare. “Don’t call me that.”

Oikawa flashed him a smile with bright white teeth. “I’m distracting you. And it’s working! I’m very good at being emotionally supportive, Ushiwaka, I’ll bet you didn’t know that about me.” 

Somehow, Ushijima laughed. Oikawa’s hand on his shoulder was warm and heavy, and he’d be far more focused on it if circumstances were different. As it was, he was still hyper-conscious of being touched. “No, I didn’t.”

“There you go. Keep breathing.” Oikawa hummed a bit, rocking on his heels, and Ushijima did his best to steady his breaths, to steady his pulse. 

Ushijima wanted to ask what Oikawa was doing here, why he was bothering, but Oikawa would probably just say something virtuous about being unable to ignore someone in need, not even someone he hated. Perhaps that was even true. Ushijima should feel more gratitude, but it was hard, knowing that Oikawa would not remember. 

This was the second year in a row that their respective university teams had made it to this level of the tournament. Last year Ushijima had looked forward to playing Oikawa, even though as they’d both been first years neither would have gotten much time on the court, but Oikawa’s university had been eliminated before he’d had the chance. This year, they had both advanced, and Ushijima had wondered if Oikawa was also looking forward to playing him. 

When their teams had filed into the gym to warm up before the match, Oikawa had locked eyes with Ushijima from across the court. Then he’d pulled an ugly face, using his middle finger to pull down his bottom eyelid while sticking his tongue out. Ushijima wasn’t sure what such childishness was meant to convey, and the first time he’d turned away without responding, baffled. 

Of course, he’d now seen Oikawa deliver the same gesture dozens of times, so it was no longer curious or confusing or amusing or anything other than maddening in its consistency as this horrible day repeated. Every moment of this day had lost its luster, and Ushijima had to seriously consider the possibility that, if he ever escaped this hell, he might never be able to bring himself to touch a volleyball again.

“Good, you no longer sound like you’re running from a horde of zombies.” Oikawa gave Ushijima’s shoulder a pat and then let him go. His hand came up to rub at his neck, like the awkwardness of this had just caught up with him. But when he spoke, his voice was as smooth and confident as ever, the same voice he always used when making fun of Ushijima before Ushijima inevitably said the wrong thing in response and made him really angry. “I realize you’re not very used to losing, but really? A panic attack just because I won for once? That seems like an overreaction.”

“That’s not why I am upset.” Ushijima did not have the resources to even attempt to keep the frustration out of his voice, and Oikawa looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. “You wouldn’t understand, or care.”

“Hey! I’m not some monster who’s just going to let a fellow player suffer. I am _known_ for being generous enough to help even my most hated rivals. Ask Tobio.” And there was the sanctimonious virtuosity, right on cue as Oikawa dropped out of his crouch to kneel, glaring furiously at Ushijima for suggesting that it was weird for him to try to take care of someone he’d often told to drop dead. 

“I don’t need your help.”

“Your stoic routine doesn’t work when your eyes are all puffy and red. And anyway I don’t care whether you need my help or not, I just want to know what’s going on. It’s not like you to storm off the court in tears.”

Ushijima thunked his head against the brick wall, not gently. “I was _not_ crying when I left the court.”

Oikawa waved a hand airily. “Semantics. I’m not going to stop bothering you until you tell me.”

Was there really any point in lying? Ushijima didn’t have the energy to come up with another story, and Oikawa wouldn’t remember the truth anyway. “I’m stuck in time. Every time this day ends, I wake up on the bus on the way here, to live our tournament game over again. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve relived this one day.”

Oikawa stared at him, and Ushijima’s heart sank lower with each silent second. The pointlessness of this exercise ate at him, and he almost wanted to get up and leave so that he wouldn’t have to hear Oikawa’s response. 

“Are you fucking with me?” Each word said slowly, disbelieving. The sharpness in Oikawa’s eyes sought to pin him down, and Ushijima could tell that only confusion kept him from sliding fully into anger. 

“No.” Ushijima didn’t know what else to add. He met Oikawa’s stare helplessly until Oikawa finally blinked, shut his mouth and shook his head, then kept shaking it.

“What you’ve described is impossible, it’s crazy. Have you gone crazy? You’re the last person I would have pegged for a sudden breakdown but maybe years of being the stiffest person alive have finally made you crack. Is that it? Have years of repressing any sign of a personality given you a split with reality?”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” Ushijima stood up. He didn’t know where he was going to go--he had no desire to return to his team and try to explain his erratic behavior to his coach or teammates. He had never had much of a taste for alcohol but perhaps he would try going to a bar and drink himself into oblivion until the day restarted. He didn’t want to spend another second in Oikawa’s painful presence, feeling more bitter and hopeless by the second about the isolation of his predicament.

“Hang on.” Oikawa scrambled to his feet and stopped Ushijima with a grip on his forearm, and Ushijima felt his heart tighten at the feeling of Oikawa’s fingers on his bare skin. “I still think that time travel--or well, whatever you want to call the bullshit you’re talking about--is impossible, but you could at least _try_ to convince me.”

“What’s the point?” Ushijima snapped, his nerves and patience frayed thin. Oikawa narrowed his eyes at the surly tone in his voice. “You can’t help me.”

“How do you know? Ugh, you piss me off.” Oikawa had his arm in a vice grip now, and Ushijima realized he was not going to be rid of him easily. He took a step closer, standing up to his full height over Oikawa, and Oikawa’s cheeks tinged red but he stubbornly held his ground. “If you can prove it, I’ll believe you, no more questions or skepticism. Just prove it. If you’ve already lived through this whole day, tell me something that’s going to happen.”

“Fine.” 

Ushijima led Oikawa around to the front of the stadium, where there was a constant stream of athletes and spectators in and out of the building. He checked the time on his phone, then pointed at one of the university buses. “That school’s coach is in the middle of an argument with their ace, and soon the ace will storm out of the bus, and the coach will yell after him that he needs to get his fucking head in the game.” Ushijima could feel Oikawa staring at him for the curse word, but he ignored it. He pointed to another corner of the parking lot. “Soon the reporters in that news van will realize that the van has broken down, and when one of them excuses herself to call someone about this, she will be approached by that man smoking by the fence. He will say something inappropriate to her and she will lose her temper, yell at him, he will yell back until he is escorted off the premises by security.” He glanced behind them at the gym. “And Ishiwata will win their final set against Nakauchi any moment now. The score will be 37-35, and Bokuto Koutarou will score the winning point.”

Oikawa stared at him, slack-jawed, as Ushijima finished his predictions. But he recovered when Ushijima turned to him, crossing his arms defensively over his chest and sniffing. “All right, well, I guess now we wait to see whether or not you’re full of shit.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Across the parking lot, a bus door opened and the ace player stomped out, followed shortly by his coach, yelling the exact phrase Ushijima had predicted from the steps. The reporters all stepped out of their van, popping the hood to look at the engine, and then the only woman in their group stepped away to talk on her cell phone. The smoking man followed her with his eyes as she walked and talked closer to him. Beside Ushijima, Oikawa breathed out, “holy shit.”

Cheers erupted from inside the stadium, and Ushijima said, “That would be Ishiwata winning,” but it hardly seemed necessary, a bonus point. Oikawa looked stunned.

“All right.” Oikawa swallowed, still watching the scene between the reporter and the man who was now putting out his cigarette and walking over to interrupt her phone conversation. Ushijima watched Oikawa. “All right, fine, you win. I believe you.”

Ushijima had not expected the immediate euphoria that came from telling someone--perhaps from telling Oikawa, specifically--what was happening to him, and being believed. He let out a breath he hadn’t been trying to hold and felt a rush of energy leave his body, almost buckling his knees in its force. He slumped against the wall and there was Oikawa, still, up in his face and touching his shoulder again. Ushijima was swamped by a sudden impulse to grab him and kiss him, and he realized that he could have been doing that this whole time, every single day. His mouth went dry.

Oikawa shook him. “Ushiwaka! What the hell is going on? This is--” A hysterical laugh bubbled out of him, and Ushijima covered the hand on his shoulder with his own. “This is _magic_ or something, I don’t know, I don’t know what it could be. Why the hell is it happening to _you?_ ”

“I don’t know.” Ushijima didn’t bother looking anywhere but at Oikawa’s mouth. He was not yet the kind of person that might kiss Oikawa abruptly like this, with no indication that it would be welcome, but he wondered what kind of person he would be after enduring a few more of these days. On this loop he had broken the rules of propriety and stormed off the court when he should have stayed. How much more self-control would he lose?

“And if you’ve played through today’s game so many times, why the hell did _we_ just win?”

That snapped Ushijima out of thinking about kissing and he stood up a little straighter, frowning at Oikawa. “My team won the first time I lived through this day, before I realized I was stuck in the loop. And I thought that perhaps the way to break the spell was to widen the margin of victory, or score the final point myself. I’ve memorized every single move your team has made, every possible way you’ve reacted. The last time we won, we--” 

Ushijima stopped himself just in time, before saying that his knowledge of the opposing team’s every move had allowed them to once win all three sets in a row while ceding only four overall points to their opponents, humiliating them. Each of those points had been scored or orchestrated by Oikawa, the only one who’d maintained any kind of will to keep competing in the face of Ushijima’s uncanny, impossible abilities. 

The look on Oikawa’s face after that loss had been horrible. Ushijima had always loved competition, had thought he understood it. He’d never felt particularly conflicted about his twin desires to beat Oikawa in volleyball and to kiss him and express the admiration he’d felt for so long. But he’d regretted beating Oikawa so soundly, regretted a victory for the first time in his life, and not entirely because he’d had the unfair advantage of time manipulation. Seeing Oikawa’s face harden, seeing him struggle to hold back tears while he looked anywhere but at Ushijima--that had given him cause to regret.

There was a faint echo of that same look on Oikawa’s face now as he heard about the many times his team had lost today’s match. Ushijima swallowed. “After a while, it became clear that I could not break myself out of this day by winning. I’ve been trying to break the spell by losing, but…” His earlier tears were trying to return, heat building behind his eyes as the hopelessness he’d felt on the court settled back down on his shoulders. “I’ve tried that several times now. It does not seem to make a difference.”

“How do you know? Maybe the match today made the difference and time will go back to normal now.” Oikawa leaned in close, peering at Ushijima intently. “When does time start over for you, anyway? Is it a full 24 hours?”

“No. I always wake up on my university bus, on the way to today’s match against you. It lasts until midnight, whether or not I fall asleep before then.”

“So there’s a chance you managed to break the spell with today’s match, isn’t there? You won’t know for sure until midnight?”

Ushijima had to turn away, his throat thick with unshed tears. He had spent many hours of many iterations feeling that kind of hope, holding his breath and keeping his fingers crossed in the hours between the end of today’s tournament and midnight. It made waking up on his university bus afterwards all the more painful. 

“I wasn’t able to cause any kind of difference from the last match. Your school won in the same way, with almost the exact same score, you said the same things to me between sets that you’ve said before. There’s no reason for the day to stop starting over when it hasn’t before.”

Ushijima couldn’t read the look Oikawa gave him now. His lips were parted, and his eyelashes cast long shadows over his cheeks in the afternoon light. “Have you told me about being stuck in time, in any of these previous days?”

Across the parking lot, two other reporters were now yelling at the rude man with the cigarette, shooing him off the stadium property while their colleague continued her phone conversation. Ushijima’s chest felt constricted, and he wondered if his panic attack might return. “No.”

Oikawa licked his lips, and no, this wasn’t panic, wasn’t nearly so well-defined. “Well. Maybe that’s been your problem, hm?”

***

This time when his team lost the match, Ushijima did not storm off the court as soon as the whistle blew. He shook hands with everyone on the other team respectfully, but when he reached Oikawa he did not let go immediately. 

“I need to talk to you.”

The triumphant, exhausted look on Oikawa’s face shifted to confusion and then irritation as Ushijima kept hold of his hand. “What? If you have some problem with how I played, you can go--”

“It has nothing to do with volleyball.” 

Oikawa stared at him, apparently stunned into silence. Behind Ushijima, one of his teammates coughed, then coughed louder, then shoved at his shoulder, but Ushijima didn’t care about holding up the line. 

They were likely to cause a scene soon if Ushijima didn’t let go, and Oikawa’s eyes darted to the side, evasive. “Ugh, I guess I can give you my number if you promise to lose it immediately--”

“Not later. Now. Meet me outside as soon as we’re done here. It’s important.” Feeling ludicrously brave, Ushijima brushed his thumb against the back of Oikawa’s hand, light enough that maybe it would go unnoticed. But this was Oikawa, who noticed everything.

“What the--what is _with_ you, why the fuck would I meet you _anywhere?_ ” Oikawa was squeezing his hand back now, leaning in, and a removed part of Ushijima wondered what this must look like to their teammates, the two of them whispering furiously at each other and clutching hands in a death grip.

“I’ll tell you everything when we’re alone. _Please._ ” His coach had noticed that the line wasn’t moving, and he was walking over to investigate. Ushijima dropped Oikawa’s hand and hurried through the rest of the handshakes, feeling a curious stare burning into the back of his neck the entire time.

He tried not to think too hard about the shiver of warmth he felt when Oikawa accepted his request and met him on the steps to the stadium instead of joining his teammates in the locker room. Instead he wasted no time in rattling off his predictions for the miniature scenes about to unfold in the parking lot, and watched Oikawa’s eyes widen by fractions as the coach yelled at his ace player from the bus, as the reporter was interrupted, as the cheers went up for Bokuto’s winning spike from inside.

“Okay, what the hell are you trying to prove,” Oikawa said with alarmed precision once he’d seen enough. He stayed silent with his arms crossed over his chest throughout the explanation, and Ushijima could see that he wanted to be skeptical, but his eyes kept straying to the parking lot. When Ushijima was finished, Oikawa’s shoulders slumped and he rubbed his hands over his face.

“All right, fine, let’s say I believe you. But--why are you telling _me_? Why not one of your teammates, your coach?” 

“Because I told you yesterday, and you said I should tell you again the next time I repeated this tournament, that I should make you believe me.” He realized belatedly that this was something of a lie--Oikawa had not given him this instruction in so many words, and perhaps the implication that Ushijima had pieced together from their previous conversation was nothing but projection on his part, a result of him clinging to a hope that he might have an ally in this. 

“You said that since telling you about my problem was something I hadn’t tried before, that it could be a key to ending whatever is causing this loop,” he amended. He shouldn’t lie. “It didn’t break the loop, but it’s…. Your theory is the only one that I have to go on.”

“I see. Well, it makes sense that you’d want the help of a Grand King.” A corner of Oikawa’s mouth lifted, a sardonic acknowledgment of his own ridiculousness. Surely no one still called him by that high school nickname anymore.

“Yes. I could use your help, and.” Ushijima faltered, tongue-tied. While it would be nice to have Oikawa thinking about how to solve his problem, he wanted to say that he wanted sympathy, commiseration, a--a friend. Understanding felt more valuable to him now than all of Oikawa’s sharp mental faculties; he felt too defeated to truly believe that Oikawa could come up with anything to fix this. And if all he had was this one day, he wanted to spend it with Oikawa.

He couldn’t say that. “And I would prefer to spend time around someone who knows the truth, instead of having to pretend.”

When they have this same conversation at the same time the next (the same) day, Ushijima will get closer to the truth, saying “I could use your help, and I could use a friend.” The day after that, he will be even more reckless: “I could use your help, and I thought it could be an opportunity to know each other better.” And after that: “I could use your help, and you’re the only person I care to spend this day with.”

This last confession will make Oikawa’s eyes widen and his jaw drop. But this time he laughed a bit and rubbed his hands together. “Of course, of course. I’m willing enough to be your secret-keeper.” He winked, and Ushijima felt his chest constrict.

***

Telling Oikawa that he was the only person Ushijima wanted to spend an eternally repeating day with was the most dangerous thing Ushijima could possibly think to do, so it didn’t feel like much more of an additional risk afterward to touch Oikawa’s shoulders and kiss him. Incredibly, after a single frozen moment Oikawa made a quiet noise and kissed him back, grabbing the front of Ushijima’s jersey and stepping in close.

But he stumbled back when fans and other volleyball players started to trickle out of the stadium. Oikawa looked around, blinking like he was coming out from under some spell, and when Ushijima tried to reach out he evaded, his discomfort written all over his face. 

He left with his teammates. Ushijima left by himself without even bothering to fetch his gym bag. He spent the rest of that day walking, through the city and then out beyond the highway, passing out finally next to a train station. When he woke up in the bus on the way to the tournament, the memory of making out with Oikawa was seared into his mind and on his tongue, and he felt desperate.

This time when he kissed Oikawa, Oikawa shoved him away immediately, then yelled at him. The time after that, Oikawa was the one to kiss him first, but still pushed him away in the end. Ushijima could not understand how this one thing could be so different each day when the rest of the events around him happened like clockwork. 

Once, he tried explaining to Oikawa this part of his repeating day. But when he brought up kissing, Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head wildly, then kept shaking it.

“Oh, you almost had me! You really had me going there.” Oikawa’s voice was high and sharp, nearing hysteria, and he was backing away. “But all those people in the parking lot must be hired actors or something, because no way have _we_ ever kissed.” He was backing away now, like Ushijima had some communicable disease.

“I’m sorry, it was a bad joke,” Ushijima tried, because he didn’t want to find some way to use up the rest of these hours if Oikawa was cutting off their interaction now. But it was too late. 

“Your sense of humor is terrible. Bye!” 

***

Ushijima woke up on his team’s bus heading into the tournament. He went through the match by rote, feeling numb and blank the whole time, bored with each serve and spike. He had learned by now that letting Oikawa’s team win made Oikawa more agreeable and ready to listen to Ushijima’s sob story, and sometimes more ready to be kissed, so that was now the outcome he aimed for every time. It meant putting in a performance that disappointed his teammates and coaches, but Ushijima cared less about that than he possibly could have imagined before all this had started.

This time when he finished his explanation of the spell, he asked Oikawa to spend the rest of the day with him instead of leaving with the rest of his teammates. When Oikawa expressed misgivings about this plan, Ushijima bluntly offered to pay him whatever he wanted in exchange.

“Good lord, calm down. What do you think I am, a prostitute?” Ushijima immediately began to protest this, but Oikawa held up a hand, laughing. “How about you just buy me dinner, hmm?”

Ushijima took Oikawa to the nicest restaurant he knew of, which seemed to surprise Oikawa. He ordered the most expensive dish on the menu and the best sake as well, and kept giving Ushijima suspicious looks over the table throughout the meal. Ushijima met his eyes guilelessly each time and matched him drink for drink, so that by the end of their meal he was more drunk than he’d been in quite some time. They went from the restaurant to a bar, and then a second bar, and then somehow (Ushijima was beginning to lose track of the sequence of events, particularly the sequence of drinks) they ended up in a ritzy, mysterious part of Tokyo that Ushijima had never imagined himself ever spending time in. Oikawa had his heart set on getting into a dance club that looked quite exclusive, but they managed to get in via a combination of Oikawa flirting shamelessly with the bouncer and Ushijima bribing him.

At this point the evening began to spin wildly out of what little control it had had in the first place. Everything became a blur: Oikawa dragging Ushijima onto the dance floor, moving against him suggestively, pushing his nose against Ushijima’s ear when he whispered to him, asking if Ushijima had been jealous when Oikawa had hit on the bouncer. It was all Ushijima could do to keep himself upright and not clutch Oikawa closer to him and come in his pants.

Also blurry were the events leading up to, incredibly, their drawing the attention and ire of a minor group of yakuza who apparently owned this club. Ushijima was not made aware of the situation until it had escalated to the point of necessitating their immediate escape from the club, so he wasn’t certain how it started. Something to do with Oikawa getting a drink spilled on him and then starting a fight, perhaps. Or maybe Oikawa had been approached by someone trying to be friendly and had turned down their advances in the most scathing way possible, choosing the wrong person for verbal target practice. Really, there was no limit to the possible ways Ushijima could imagine Oikawa getting several armed and dangerous people to be angry with him.

Ushijima was leaning against the wall close to the bar, taking a much-needed breather from the dance floor, trying to calm his heart after too much time spent having his personal space invaded by Oikawa. He was wondering if he should try to sober up, or if that would be pointless considering that midnight was not far off and his day would soon loop over, when Oikawa reappeared at his elbow, grabbing him and breathlessly telling him they needed to go, _now_.

Sprinting away while gunshots followed him was a new experience for Ushijima, and not one he found particularly welcome. Beside him, Oikawa was laughing, and when Ushijima tried to spare the breath to angrily ask him what he found so funny, Oikawa’s only response was to grab Ushijima by the front of his jacket and yank him sideways into an alley. Ushijima stumbled and nearly fell, but Oikawa was still all over him, hustling them both into a garden level storefront door. 

Oikawa had to press his whole body up against Ushijima’s in order for them to both fit and not be seen from the street. Ushijima held his breath as the men chasing them ran past the alley. It was exasperating to find that his body could so easily switch gears from the adrenaline rush of running for his life to his appreciation of Oikawa plastered against him. He was just starting to despair over his inability to hide his growing erection when he realized that he could feel Oikawa’s hardness pressing into his thigh.

Oikawa seemed to be thinking along similar lines. When the streets were quiet again and the yakuza were gone, he stepped back, just far enough to look Ushijima in the eye. His smile was slow, drunk, lewd, and Ushijima couldn’t look away.

“Sorry about that.”

Ushiima’s throat was so dry, his voice a thin croak. “You nearly got us killed.”

“Yes, my bad. Make it up to you?” And Oikawa went to his knees.

***

Ushijima woke up on his team’s bus heading into the tournament. He carefully repeated every movement and every word he’d spoken the previous day, because he very much wanted to get back to that alley in Tokyo. Perhaps this time he might prevent Oikawa from running away for inexplicable reasons after he made Ushijima come; perhaps this time Ushijima could reciprocate.

Again he took Oikawa out to dinner, again he followed Oikawa to several different bars, and again he found himself on the dance floor at the yakuza’s club. He was not looking forward to being chased by gangsters again, but he let it happen.

This proved to be a very bad, indeed fatal, mistake. Ushijima wasn’t sure what was different this loop--maybe Oikawa had hurried them out of the club a second too late, maybe he was running slower than before because he thought he knew how this would end--but he felt the bullet hit his back before they’d reached the alleyway. It hurt, and he saw Oikawa stumble to a halt and twist to look at him, shocked and horrified. Then he felt nothing at all.

***

Ushijima woke up on his team’s bus heading into the tournament. Death, apparently, was not an option to escape this day. Probably he should feel more gratitude for that, and he wouldn’t prefer to be dead right now, but he felt more exasperated than appreciative.

This time he took Oikawa as far from downtown as he could. They took a train out to the country, and Oikawa gave him a strange look, asking if they were headed back to Miyagi. That was an interesting thought, but Ushijima didn’t want to dig up old resentments. 

The sun was close to setting when they got off the train at a small farming village. Oikawa complained the whole time as they wandered around, exploring small side streets and walking through community garden paths and the local cemetery. But Oikawa had no criticisms of the dinner they ate at a family restaurant that an elderly lady had recommended to Ushijima after he’d politely helped her up some steps. And afterward, when Ushijima asked Oikawa if he wouldn’t mind taking a walk through the surrounding countryside together, Oikawa acquiesced. 

They walked on tree-lined paths that circled the largest farms outside the village, and Oikawa looked a little nervous when Ushijima suggested that they walk out into the middle of the soybean fields, but he didn’t say no. When they got far enough into the fields, Ushijima directed Oikawa to look up.

“There’s less light pollution out here,” he explained, and it was true: moonlight was all they had to see by. “Do you like stargazing?”

Oikawa’s face lit up.

Ushijima did not know much about astronomy himself, but he enjoyed sitting next to Oikawa, listening to him as he pointed out different constellations. Oikawa’s voice had a lovely lilt to it when he lost himself in the telling of myths behind some constellation or other, when he got excited while explaining some recent space discovery. Ushijima had to continually remind himself to look up at the sky sometimes, because otherwise he’d be content just to watch his companion.

So of course Oikawa was the one to notice it when a light in the sky began to move strangely. “I… I don’t think that’s a plane,” Oikawa said, frowning a bit as they watched the light move. “Is it--is it getting bigger?”

Considering he’d lost track of how many times he’d repeated this day, and on top of that died once, Ushijima’s sense of what fantastical or crazy things he could believe in was quite expanded. But he still felt incredulous and struck dumb as they sat and watched the light get bigger and closer, until there was no denying that it was a spaceship and it was going to land in their field.

Oikawa grabbed for Ushijima’s hand, breathing out “No way.” His grip on Ushijima’s fingers was so tight it almost hurt, and Ushijima leaned into him.

It occurred to Ushijima as the door to the spaceship opened, revealing several tall bipedal creatures whose skin might be green (it was hard to tell when they were silhouetted by their ship’s lights), that he might ask these creatures whether they had anything to do with his time loop situation. He hadn’t previously speculated that the cause might be alien in origin, but perhaps it was possible.

But Ushijima did not get the chance. He had lost track of time. The aliens stopped in front of them and started to speak in a slithery, incomprehensible language, and Ushijima was pretty sure that Oikawa was silently crying, and then it was midnight.

***

Ushijima woke up on his team’s bus heading into the tournament. His UFO encounter had left him with a strange feeling, somewhere between exhilarated and hysterical and somehow calm, like he’d come out the other side of something. Nothing mattered. 

The match against Oikawa’s team was about to begin, with the starting players from each team walking onto the court. Ushijima came out of the locker room and kept walking, going directly to the other side of the net, ignoring the confused looks and sharp words he was getting as teammates and opponents noticed his strange behavior. Oikawa, in particular, was saying something along the lines of “What the hell are you--mmf--!”

He did not get the chance to finish his sentence because Ushijima swept him up in his arms. He had not thought this through, he was following a crazed fantasy in his mind’s eye, but Oikawa seemed too surprised to stop him. One of his hands found the small of Oikawa’s back, pulling him in by the hips, and his other hand wrapped around Oikawa’s shoulders. Ushijima dipped him backwards and leaned down, and Oikawa let out a shocked and disbelieving little laugh. Ushijima could see the word “What” forming on his lips, and he was so sick of answering that question, so sick of trying to solve this spell he found himself in and of trying to solve Oikawa. He gave Oikawa no time to speak and kissed him instead.

He kissed Oikawa the way he had imagined kissing him for years, without propriety or hesitation. Around them he could hear the shocked and amused noises of their teammates, and he couldn’t tell whether the crowd of spectators in the stands loved this or hated it but they were being very noisy about it either way. None of that mattered. Oikawa was melting into his arms, he was kissing Ushijima back, his hand was on the nape of Ushijima’s neck, his fingers curling into Ushijima’s hair. Ushijima didn’t know what it meant that Oikawa was going along with this without any preamble--did it mean he had feelings for Ushijima, or was he simply pleased by romantic gestures?

None of the other players or coaches had approached them yet to pull them apart. Oikawa’s tongue was in Ushijima’s mouth. When they finally paused to breathe, Oikawa laughed again.

“Ushiwaka-chan,” he said shakily “Well I _never._ ”

“I love you,” Ushijima said. 

Oikawa’s coach was pulling them apart now, yelling at Ushijima to get the hell off the court, and not far behind him Ushijima could hear his own coach, saying something about Ushijima being benched forever or possibly off the team entirely. He did not listen to them or look away from Oikawa as he let himself be led off the court. Oikawa’s eyes were round as dinner plates, his cheeks were flushed, and he too was looking nowhere else, not even when his teammates crowded around him, incredulously asking whether he was all right and trying to laugh away their discomfort. Their gazes stayed locked on each other until Ushijima had to turn away to walk out of the gym. 

Ushijima had hoped, but a confession of love did not seem to be the answer to breaking this spell, because the next morning he still woke up on his team’s bus, heading into the tournament.

***

“Hold on, hold on hold on.” Oikawa held up a hand and Ushijima paused. “You’re saying you fucking _died?_ ”

“I believe so.” They were eating dinner in a rooftop restaurant in Tokyo, watching twilight settle over the city. Ushijima had grown accustomed to taking Oikawa here, had chosen this spot several loops in a row now. It was pleasant enough. He no longer experimented with his days or tried for novelty; he felt resigned, mostly.

“That’s awful.” Oikawa spoke with real feeling, and Ushijima couldn’t help but smile at him, which Oikawa seemed to find frustrating. He leaned forward, his fingers moving up to brush Ushijima’s forearm on the table. “No, seriously, you’re living out a horror movie. I feel--” He laughed a little, ducking his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I feel terrible for you.”

Ushijima opened his mouth to say thank you, but instead he said, “Why is that hard for you to believe?”

Oikawa’s cheeks turned pink and he looked quickly away, though he didn’t move his hand away from Ushijima’s arm. His jittery laugh turned the shape of his mouth into a smirk. “Oh, god. Are we really doing this?”

Ushijima was not actually this obtuse, but he still said, “Doing what?” 

Oikawa shot him an irritated glare. “Fine. It can’t be news to you that before today, you were not someone I particularly liked.”

“It’s not news to me, but I’ve never understood why.”

“How can you not understand?” Oikawa pointed an accusing finger at Ushijima, leaning over the table. “You’ve beaten me over and over for _years_ , since we were twelve, and if that wasn’t bad enough, you’ve been an asshole about it this whole time!”

“How have I been an asshole?” Ushijima had been stuck in this day for so long, getting to know Oikawa and himself in a thousand different ways, that he had almost forgotten the defensiveness and hurt confusion that was now taking him over in response to these old accusations. His arms were crossed over his chest, and Oikawa was still scowling at him, and he wondered if he should give up on this loop entirely and see what happened with this dinner in the next iteration.

“How about all those times you told me that Seijoh was the wrong choice,” Oikawa said sourly. “You’re so full of yourself. I don’t know how you can claim you’ve always admired me as a setter when you don’t respect my teams and think you know how to live my life better than I do.”

It was hard to hear, particularly because Oikawa was not using the past tense in his accusations. Ushijima’s impulse was to disagree, to defend himself and insist that Oikawa would have excelled as Shiratorizawa’s setter. He wanted to say that he still believed he was right. 

But all the time he’d spent with Oikawa in these endless repetitions, all the different ways their conversations had played out, had given him some sense of when he was about to fuck up. He stayed quiet, turning his words over on his tongue. 

Maybe it didn’t matter whether or not Oikawa could have succeeded more at Shiratorizawa than at his chosen school. He had succeeded so much regardless--he had shone more brightly than anyone else Ushijima had known during their high school years, and now that they were both in university Ushijima still found him impossible to look away from. When he was a teenager, Ushijima had wanted to affect him, had wanted his opinions and beliefs to matter to Oikawa, had tried with obstinacy and bluntness to make Oikawa return all that looking. Maybe he’d been overbearing. Maybe he’d been wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Ushijima said slowly. Oikawa’s eyes narrowed, and maybe this wasn’t the right thing to say; maybe Oikawa would brush him off as being too simplistic, or think he was merely placating. Ushijima swallowed, and pushed on. “I realize it wasn’t my place to criticize your decisions or your playing.”

“It wasn’t any of your business,” Oikawa said, but he sounded a degree or two less sharp than before.

“I know. Maybe I was too arrogant back then, I just--I wanted to be a part of your life. I wanted you to listen to me.” This admission somehow opened him up even more than his confession of love after that kiss, and Ushijima blushed, now unable to meet Oikawa’s eyes. This felt like the most vulnerable moment of his life.

Oikawa did not speak for several torturous seconds, and when he said “You did?” the soft uncertainty in his voice matched Ushijima’s. Ushijima nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Well, that changes things. I never knew you had a crush on me.” Ushijima’s cheeks burned even hotter and he felt like throwing himself over the edge of this roof to cut this short, but there was something like affection in Oikawa’s tease, and when he looked up Oikawa was smiling at him.

“Oh, don’t scowl, I’m not trying to be mean. But seriously, I never knew.” As Ushijima watched, still wary, Oikawa stood up and leaned across the table. He touched his fingers to Ushijima’s chin, lifted up his face and kissed him. 

Ushijima kissed him back, and subsequently lost track of time. At some point he became aware of shuffling feet next to them--the waiter, who had tried to covertly leave their check on the table without interrupting. Oikawa caught him as he was trying to sidestep away and gave him his card, along with instructions to “run that as fast as you possibly can because we really need to get out of here.” 

Other restaurant patrons were staring, or feigning casualness like they hadn’t just been staring. Maybe if he didn’t know he’d get a do-over on this whole evening, Ushijima would have been embarrassed by the impropriety, but instead he found himself smiling, and Oikawa’s returning grin was charming and sunny.

Oikawa suggested his apartment as their next destination--apparently they were close to his neighborhood, although Ushijima would have happily traversed the city to get there. For all Oikawa’s confidence, once they actually got to his place he seemed to feel just as awkward as Ushijima did. (Ushijima couldn’t help but remember how cavalierly Oikawa had blown him in that alley, but then, he was much more sober now.) He started a kettle of hot water for tea and then they were just standing in his apartment’s tiny kitchen with less than a meter of space separating them. Oikawa seemed fidgety, rubbing at his neck and telling short anecdotes about this and that, but Ushijima felt like he couldn’t move, his chest was too constricted. When the kettle’s whistle started to blow, he had to screw his eyes shut for a moment.

“Here.” Ushijima opened his eyes and accepted the hot mug Oikawa passed to him. Their fingers brushed, of course, and Ushijima glanced up. Oikawa didn’t flinch from his gaze, letting Ushijima study him.

Ushijima did not drink his tea. Feeling almost like he was floating outside of his body, he turned to set his cup on the counter, next to Oikawa’s, which had also not been touched. As soon as the cup was set down, Oikawa held his face and kissed him.

Things progressed very quickly. Oikawa seemed to feel the urgency of their situation, conscious of Ushijima’s midnight deadline, and his movements were fumbling but deliberate as he pulled off both their shirts, relieved Ushijima of his pants and underwear, and crowded him up against the rickety kitchen table. Ushijima ended up on top of the table somehow, with Oikawa’s lips trailing wet kisses down his neck and Oikawa’s finger circling his hole. He could feel the whole hot length of Oikawa’s dick pressing against the back of his thigh, and when he hooked his legs around Oikawa’s waist he felt a sharp, deep exhalation of breath against his throat.

“Oikawa.” Ushijima curled his fingers tightly into brown hair, held him tight. “You can--whatever you want--”

“Yes, I want to,” Oikawa said, voice low. “I just need…. Ah--” He leaned far to the side to grope along the kitchen counter, fingers finally closing around a bottle of olive oil. Then he was back in Ushijima’s space, slicking his hand and kissing Ushijima fully on the mouth as he pushed his index finger in.

Ushijima had never been happier to be moving so fast. He didn’t feel like they were rushing--he felt like he’d spent several lifetimes waiting for the sensations of Oikawa opening him up like this. It was bittersweet knowing that in a few hours, time would rewind again and it would be like this never happened. Ushijima tried not to think about it. Perhaps he could find his way back to this kitchen on his next loop. 

Ushijima shuddered when Oikawa slipped his fingers out. Oikawa murmured a question into Ushijima’s hair and then bit the shell of his ear, and Ushijima assured him that yes, he was doing all right, he was great. He thought he could feel the shape of Oikawa’s grin against his neck. 

Then Oikawa’s hands were on his thighs, pushing his legs a little further open and pulling his ass forward on the table, lining up their hips. Oikawa leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, and the expression on his face was so oddly serious that Ushijima found himself smiling in response. Eventually Oikawa’s brow smoothed and his lips twitched upward, and he stroked his knuckles down Ushijima’s inner thigh. And he pushed himself in.

It hurt, but not in a way that bothered Ushijima. It was a good kind of stretch, like hard exercise, like his body being satisfyingly used. Ushijima breathed out slowly as Oikawa’s dick slid into him by centimeters, and Oikawa let out a soft cry when he was all the way in. His fingertips pressed hard into Ushijima’s thighs. Ushijima wished they would bruise. Bruises would mean moving forward, getting to keep this instead of surrendering it to one of his infinite midnights.

Ushijima didn’t want to think about that right now. He moved his hips experimentally and Oikawa made a strangled noise, clutched at the table. 

“Oh god,” Oikawa said thinly. “Ushiwaka--Ushi, you’re. You’re going to kill me.” 

“I won’t,” Ushijima said, and tightened his legs around Oikawa’s waist again. “Oikawa, fuck me. Please.”

Oikawa laughed and cursed and began to move. He was slow at first, cautious, and then his hips picked up a faster rhythm and Ushijima’s thoughts started blurring into a frenetic, incoherent hum. Each thrust felt like it was shaking him apart, starting from some deep, unknown place then sending shockwaves down through his knees, elbows, electrifying the tips of his fingers and toes. He was grasping at Oikawa and the force of Oikawa’s body pushed him down until he was sprawled on his back on the table. Oikawa followed him, hooking an elbow in the crook of Ushijima’s knee and craning forward to pant against Ushijima’s collarbones. 

Ushijima’s erection had flagged somewhat when Oikawa had first entered him, but now he was so hard he ached. His cock bounced on his stomach every time Oikawa’s hips snapped forward, and he wanted to touch himself but he didn’t want to let go of Oikawa. If he arched his hips, he could rub himself against Oikawa’s abdomen, and from the low groan that Oikawa let out, the movement did good things for him, too. Ushijima kept grinding with greater enthusiasm, and everything felt so good that he did not immediately register what the loud creaking sound meant--

And then it was too late, and with a slow finality that seemed almost cinematic, a table leg gave way and the whole thing buckled. 

Oikawa did not manage to pull out of Ushijima all the way, before they both went down in a clumsy, painful heap. For a moment neither moved, and then with a painful-sounding grunt Oikawa pulled out completely. Then he flopped over Ushijima’s chest, and this time his moan was full of self-pity.

“Oikawa? Are you…. All right?”

“I’m embarrassed! I can’t _believe_ that just happened. I knew I need to replace this table but, _fuck!_

“Fuck, indeed,” Ushijima said, and then had to bite his lip against a somewhat-hysterical giggle. Oikawa pushed himself enough to scowl at him for the bad joke, and his glare lasted only two seconds before they both dissolved into laughter.

“I think that could have ripped my dick off. Seriously, I think that’s how people get dick injuries.”

“For that to happen, I think teeth would have to be involved somehow.”

Oikawa slapped Ushijima’s thigh. “Don’t joke about the risk of my penis being permanently disfigured!”

Ushijima did not stop laughing until Oikawa shut him up with a kiss. He was not still hard, not after the table’s collapse, but he was getting there again quickly. He reached down to squeeze Oikawa’s ass. 

“I was enjoying myself. And, ah, we only have until midnight…”

Oikawa nudged his nose into Ushijima’s hair and pushed his hips lazily against him. “You’re suggesting I should stick it back in?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it like _that._ ”

“Mm. But let’s relocate, I’m not big on splinters.” 

Oikawa’s bed was a great improvement over lying on a broken table on the kitchen floor. Oikawa fucked him from behind this time, with one hand on Ushijima’s hip and the other covering Ushijima's hand on the headboard. Ushijima tried to stroke himself, but it was difficult to maintain rhythm and the right pressure with Oikawa fucking him senseless. 

When Oikawa came, still gripping Ushijima's hand with white-knuckled desperation, Ushijima moved to touch himself. It didn't take much. He pumped into his hand a few times and then he was gone, shooting over his fingers and onto the sheets with Oikawa still softening inside him.

Afterward, lying on his back with Oikawa draped over his chest, breathing over his heart, Ushijima tried to will himself to stay awake. He wasn’t sure exactly what time it was, but it couldn’t be past 11:30. He didn’t want to waste any of the remaining minutes of this precious day on sleep. He wanted to stay present, wanted to memorize every line and curve of Oikawa’s body. Anything to dull the ache when he woke up on the bus to find that none of this had happened.

But his body was too pleasantly worn out, and the warmth of a sated Oikawa on top of him was too much to consider moving. He pressed a kiss to Oikawa’s forehead, and eventually drifted off.

***

Ushijima woke up disoriented. It took him several moments to realize why: he was in a bed, not on a bus, and Oikawa was sleeping naked beside him.

His heart leapt into his throat. It was still dark--it could conceivably be before midnight. He needed his phone, or Oikawa’s phone, or some kind of clock, anything, and he felt flustered and crazed as he pushed himself upright, waking up Oikawa in his haste to fumble out from under the covers and find any time-telling device.

His phone was in the pocket of his pants, which were still in the kitchen. Ushijima was naked and on his knees on the linoleum floor, and his phone was nearly drained of battery, but it claimed the time was 4am.

For several long seconds, Ushijima had no idea what to do. He felt suspended in clouds, separate from himself and from the kitchen floor and from Tokyo, and somehow it was a struggle to make sense of something as simple as the time of day. Then he started laughing, and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t keep himself quiet, so his hysterical laughter woke Oikawa, who walked grumpily into the kitchen asking what the hell Ushijima was doing, and it was a struggle to stop laughing long enough to gasp, “It’s four in the morning.”

“Yeah, _I know,_ why did you wake--” Oikawa stopped and his eyes grew round as saucers as the time caught up with him. Ushijima’s chest still shook with laughter aftershocks, and tears were collecting in the corners of his eyes as he looked up at Oikawa.

Oikawa joined Ushijima on his knees. “So you’re--still here--? And that means….?”

“It’s over,” Ushijima said. “Yesterday is over.” He threw his arms around Oikawa. Oikawa was slow to embrace him in return, like his mind was busy trying to process information, but then he pulled Ushijima in close.

“But why? What broke your spell? _Was_ it even a spell? What made this time different?”

“I don’t know.” Ushijima pulled back and kissed Oikawa on the mouth, cupping his jaw, making it linger. “I don’t think I care.”

“Well--” Ushijima kissed him again, and now Oikawa was the one laughing, giddy and incredulous between kisses. “I guess that means everything’s….. fine?”

“I guess so.” Ushijima wiped at his eyes. There were other feelings trying to crowd in on him now that the disbelief and the euphoria were calming: gratitude, confusion, and concern for the future--which he hadn’t experienced in quite some time. He didn’t actually know if everything was fine, or if it would be fine; his life was no longer predictable, he had to think about consequences again. 

Oikawa touched his face, his thumb swiping over a tear on Ushijima’s cheek. “Come back to bed,” he said, his voice full of a warm affection that Ushijima would never have heard from him before the events of last night. “We can think about all of it in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> A note about what breaks Ushijima out of his time loop: Around the same time that Mander commissioned me for ushioi, I had been talking a lot about wanting 2017 to be the year that I wrote Ushijima bottoming, since that is a very rare find in the ushioi tag. The idea occurred to me that I could write an ushioi groundhog day AU where Ushijima can't break his time loop spell until he gets plowed by Oikawa, and this made me laugh so much that I pretty much had to write it. However, I'm not trying to make any kind of statement about penetrative anal sex somehow counting as ~real~ sex as opposed to a blowjob or whatever, so as far as the actual text of the story, what breaks the time loop is Ushijima apologizing to Oikawa for what he said in high school.
> 
> But on a metatextual level, ya better believe that the spell-breaker is absolutely Ushijima bottoming. 
> 
> You can find more of my incredibly refined sense of humor and my enthusiasm for ushioi on tumblr, where I am zeegoesthere. Feel free to come say hi!


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